


Take It As It Comes

by wocket



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: Berlin Wall, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Germany, Heidelberg, Hotel Sex, M/M, Military, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25522930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wocket/pseuds/wocket
Summary: April 1989. Tim and Mike are sent overseas for training in Germany and grow close.
Relationships: Tim McVeigh/Mike Fortier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	Take It As It Comes

**April 1989**

In spring of 1989, Charlie Company makes the trip to USAG Heidelberg in West Germany for training with the Bundeswehr. Tim had been a barracks rat at Fort Benning, so it comes as a bit of a surprise when he suddenly wants to be out and about in Germany. Any time the men get a day of leave, Tim is keen to venture out and see the sights or some museums, alone at first, but after a few solo excursions Tim wants for company, and insists on dragging Mike along.

Mike is currently horizontal, doing his best to tune out the world.

“Come on, man,” Tim begs. “Let’s see the world on the government’s dime.”

“I can’t understand anything here, anyway,” Mike complains.

“Don’t let that stop you. You might actually learn something, Fortier,” Tim replies. “We’re in Germany. _You_ are going to broaden your horizons,” Tim declares. “You don’t have a choice.”

Mike grumbles but lets Tim drag him toward the door, toward the world.

*

Tim is a pretty good tour guide for someone who’s never been to Germany before. His good-natured manner lifts Mike’s spirits, and soon the two are carrying on as usual. Hell, Mike’s even having fun. He finds himself watching Tim himself more than he really looks at any of the things Tim is talking about. It’s obvious that Tim is blessed to be here among the history and the opulence of it all.

Back in the barracks, Mike questions Tim’s knowledge, mostly because he’s impressed.

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“When we get back to the U.S., I’m taking you to get a library card,” Tim laughs.

Mike kisses Tim to shut him up, stifling his giggle. 

Tim freezes when Mike kisses him, always himself for the coming rejection that will follow.

“What’s the matter?” Mike asks curiously, when Tim doesn’t really respond.

“Are you sure?” Tim asks breathlessly, vulnerable.

Mike watches his hesitation play out with a fondness. “You’re an odd duck, aren’t you?” Mike asks. “Come here.” He gets his hands on Tim’s slim hips and drags him forward, lower halves pressed together as Mike leans back in and kisses the confusion off of Tim’s face. It’s a real kiss, a real embrace, and Tim lets himself kiss this man back.

In Mike’s arms, Tim feels something he never has before. He gives himself over to it. He lets Mike lead the kiss and steer things along, following his lead, relishing in the way Mike’s hands feel impossibly warm over Tim’s cammies.

Mike likes how much Tim likes being kissed, though the taller man seems embarrassed by the way he chases after Mike’s mouth.

“You seem like you’re in a good mood,” Mike asks, wondering why Tim is walking on air.

“Damn good birthday, that’s all.”

Tim is full of mysteries.

“It’s your birthday?!” Mike asks. “You didn’t say anything. How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“I didn’t even buy you a drink,” Mike complains.

“The drinking age in Germany is sixteen,” Tim reminds him, something they’ve been taking advantage of since they arrived in the country. Mike’s younger than he is anyway, by about eight months.

“It’s the principle of the thing, damn it.”

“You don’t have to give me anything. I don’t _need_ anything.”

“Good, because the only thing you’re getting are birthday slaps,” he threatens, which must be some relic of growing up with brothers. He wrestles Tim to the floor, getting in a few good smacks on his ass. He brings his hand down again, his palm meeting Tim’s backside with a thump. 

Tim rolls them around so he’s on top, snatching Mike’s wrists and pinning his arms by his head. They’re both fit, but Mike is no match for PT stud Tim. 

“Make another threat, Fortier,” Tim challenges.

Mike grins. Their faces are close, breath mingling. His eyes are on Tim’s mouth when Tim’s strength falters for a second and his hips slide lower, grazing against Mike’s, and Mike can feel an undeniable hard-on.

Tim sucks in a shaky breath, and then Mike pulls him into a searing kiss. 

Mike grips Tim’s hips and grinds his own upward, anticipation building as their hard cocks brush against each other through their cammies.

Things are awkward only for a moment as they try to figure out where their arms go. Tim holds himself up over Mike with one arm, muscles flexing. Then only their hips are touching and the world spins faster.

Mike gets Tim’s cammies unzipped and gets a hand on his dick.

The next kiss muffles Tim’s gasp. He shifts out of the way so he can touch Mike. He doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with junk that isn’t his own, but the mechanics are mostly the same. Half-dressed, they jerk off on the cold floor in a rough and tumble mess. They rut against each other, not seeming to mind the discomfort. 

Their kisses turn rough and messy and smothering. It’s hot and rushed and it’s not long before Tim is shooting over Mike’s fingers, and he returns the favor for Mike, tugging an orgasm from him.

Breath ragged and heavy, they collapse in a tangled mess of sweaty limbs. 

“We should —” 

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, and they begin the process of cleaning up as quickly as they can before anyone sees.

*

They’re in Heidelberg to learn about war in a city filled with romance. How ironic, to learn about something so ugly somewhere so beautiful.

In the midst of all the fighting and fucking, Tim has never felt more alive.

The two men are out of the sun’s reach on one of the many terraces of Heidelberg Castle, the vaulted arches providing a frame through which to view the picturesque city of Heidelberg three hundred feet below. It’s beautiful, and when Tim takes in the Romantic architecture, he understands what Goethe meant by frozen music.

Mercifully, they’ve been left alone as they explore.

Mike walks Tim backward until his back is pressed up against the stone wall, leaning in with a smile until he catches him in a kiss.

Tim is confused by Mike’s amused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” he smiles. “You look like you can’t believe it every time I kiss you.”

“I can’t,” Tim whispers.

Mike cradles Tim’s jaw in his hands, kissing him soundly. Then, suddenly, he drops to his knees in front of Tim.

“Mike, what are you doing?” Tim asks, stunned.

“The other day was fun,” Mike explains, “but I’m gonna give you something to remember.”

And that’s how Mike ends up blowing Tim in the shadows of the Heidelberg Castle.

It’s hot and it’s dangerous and it’s their thrilling secret. Tim feels bad for calling Mike a faggot, because he’s a pretty good cocksucker. Tim’s dick is thick and long, and Mike tries to deep-throat him, somehow turning the struggle into something sexy. It’s tough but he knows how to suck and tease and pull passion out of Tim.

Mike’s mouth is wet and slick, his swirling tongue lavishing attention over his fellow soldier’s dick. His pace is steady but he lets Tim fuck his mouth, grinning when he feels Tim’s thighs shaking under his hands.

Tim’s fingers scramble against Mike’s cropped hair and he spills down Mike’s throat. “ _Das ist gut_ ,” Tim grins, leaning his head against the wall.

“What?” Mike asks, wiping his mouth and zipping Tim’s fly.

Tim hauls Mike back onto his feet. “Don’t worry about it,” Tim laughs, throwing an arm around his neck and kissing him eagerly.

*

By the time they get close to finishing the warfare training program in May, their squad feels tighter, closer. Tim knows it’s because of the hard work they’ve put in on the training, but he wonders how much of it is due to the closeness he and Mike have developed during their time in Germany. They’d worked out some of the tension in their friendship, channeling that energy into something different, something more thrilling and rewarding. Things are better, just in the way they exist around each other. It’s good. They don’t butt heads nearly as often, and they know how to work together.

There’s a real trust that develops, guaranteed by the combat training and intensified by their time spent together outside of that. In addition to the motivational training, they’ve been learning how to fight their way through houses and barns, like how to clear houses by tossing in grenades then spraying it with a machine gun. Tim does so well he obtains the German equivalent of an Expert Infantry badge, an achievement he earns with pride. He strives to be better for himself in every way.

One afternoon Tim and Mike manage to go off post after training. They’re both exhausted, but Mike’s especially worn out and in a piss-poor attitude, griping about his shoulder during the entire outing.

Tim leads them on a hike, from the Old Bridge over the Neckarwiese up to the top of the Philosopher’s Walk. The walk gives them a beautiful view of picturesque Old Town, the old village surrounded by trees on a slope.

It’s a view that even grumpy Mike can appreciate.

On a clear day like today, the entire valley shines in orange and pink shades when the sun sets behind the hillside across the river. The castle is visible from up here, and Tim tries to pinpoint from a distance the spot of their memorable outing from the other day.

They finally come up on a grassy meadow where they can take a breather, finding a spot among the cottonwood and lime trees to take in the view. Somehow they feel miles away, in their own special corner of the globe.

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Tim says, captivated. “I’ve never really been anywhere.”

“It’s got a certain charm that rural Georgia lacks. Arizona, too.”

“I want to see the desert someday.”

“You will.” Mike seems sure of it.

After a minute, Mike grimaces and reaches for his neck, trying to get at the bothersome pain.

Tim settles back in the grass, spreads his knees, and pats his thigh.

Mike’s hesitant, but realizes they’re pretty isolated up here. He settles in between Tim’s knees, sitting with his back to Tim’s chest. He tries to be modest about it but Tim just draws his legs closer together, trapping Mike between them.

Tim reaches for the spot he knows Mike struggles with and massages the muscle, trying to work out all the soreness from training, until Mike is loose-limbed and pliant under his hands, finally relaxing. When Mike starts to droop, Tim grins and slips his hand down, gently scratching his nails over Mike’s stomach.

Mike murmurs something inaudible.

“You’re killing me,” Tim laughs softly. 

Tim keeps up until Mike dozes off. His attentions fade, but he doesn’t move away until it looks like Mike might regret the position he fell asleep in.

Tim moves his hand up and down Mike’s side until he blinks his eyes open and yawns. 

“You know, I sent Jenny your picture once,” Tim confesses, resting his chin on Mike’s shoulder.

 _That_ wakes Mike up.

“What the hell would make you do a crazy thing like that?”

“I wanted to set you two up.”

Mike chokes. “You can’t be serious, Tim.”

He smiles sheepishly. “It was before all that stuff happened.”

“Well? What did she say? Did she think I was cute?”

“She told me if I liked you that much I should fuck you myself,” Tim admits, cheeks red.

“At least someone in the McVeigh family has a decent head on their shoulders,” Mike grins, pecking Tim on the cheek. “Glad you took her advice.”

Mike stands back up and offers a hand for Tim, and they begin their descent.

*

The unit’s time in Germany ends with a weekend trip to the capitol. A couple of guys in the squad get word of the trip, and wind up inviting themselves along on the train journey that takes almost seven hours.

Berlin hums with energy. 

The very first stop is the Berlin wall. It’s striking, though shorter than Tim expected, nearly 100 miles lined with watchtowers and light systems and patrolled by soldiers with dogs. Tim’s quiet as he takes it all in. There’s a large patch of graffiti that reads _Die Mauer Muss Fallen_ \- “the wall must fall” - that his eyes won’t seem to move away from.

It seems strange, to have this increased military presence in the middle of a city. Tim’s grateful at once for the freedoms he enjoys, and he snaps a photo with a disposable camera.

The guys all split up before dinner, most of them with their eyes on a night out at a club. They agree to meet up at a hostel where they can all stay on the cheap and get breakfast before leaving on the 12 o’clock train tomorrow afternoon.

After taking in dinner and a few brews at a traditional German meal at a brauhaus near the Tiergarten, Mike and Tim wander around west Berlin, taking in the new city. It’s companionable and the most enjoyable thing they’ve done outside of training in some time.

In the middle of streets alive with history and culture, Mike finds himself keeping most of his attention on Tim. That’s why he notices almost immediately when Tim stops dead in his tracks.

Mike turns around to face him. Tim’s just standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. Mike holds up his arms, as if to ask, _what?_

“I don’t want to stay at the hostel,” Tim says, burying his nerves with determination.

“You want to wander around Berlin all night?”

“No, Mike,” Tim rolls his eyes. “I want us to get a room. I want to go somewhere we won’t be interrupted by four other guys for once,” Tim says, sure of it, knowing for once what he wants.

“Yeah, okay,” Mike agrees in a funny voice.

“Right.” Tim jams his hands in his pockets. He starts looking for the first hotel they see, for convenience, and because if Tim doesn’t stop he might just keep walking across the whole country.

The Hotel Savoy is nice — almost too nice — and they try not to act too much like tourists. Everything is done up in red and walnut, with red leather chairs and a 1920s vibe. The hotel feels private, discreet. It’s nothing like the military base they’ve been living on, a strange exception to the austere Army lives they’ve been leading during their training.

Tim gives the name Tuttle at the front desk while Mike lurks around the lobby, trying to be invisible. The hotel costs about 20 Deutschmark more than Tim wants to pay, but the only other option - finding a hostel or someplace cheaper - is not a real option. There’s no turning back now.

Tim returns with a key.

“We’re on the second floor.”

Silent, Mike follows Tim up the stairs, wishing they could avoid the eye of the hotel clerk. The steps seem endless.

Tim steadies his hands as he unlocks the door to their room.

Everything is red and black, elegant designs accentuating the marble floors and wood paneling. It’s luxe, so much so they almost feel out of place.

“This is… wow.”

The design from the lobby is carried through the rest of the hotel. The furniture is sleek and dark. A large bed dominates the room.

Like a number of things on their Germany trip, it straddles the line of being too elegant, too romantic. What were they supposed to do? They blindly picked a hotel with no information to go off of.

Mike heads straight for the minibar, twisting the cap off of a tiny bottle of whiskey.

“Oh. There’s a bar downstairs, I didn’t think — we could go —”

Mike shakes his head quickly. “Nah.”

“Okay.” Tim reaches for a bottle of water. “Having second thoughts?”

“Nerves,” Mike explains.

“Nerves? Why are you nervous?” Worrying about things is usually Tim’s job.

“I’ve never - I don’t know, I’ve been with guys - people - before, but not… not in a four-star hotel in Europe.”

“It was convenient. I didn’t know it would be this nice,” Tim admits.

“I don’t deserve this,” Mike says quietly, looking around the room. “It’s pretty nice for a hook-up.”

“Is that what this is?” Tim asks quietly and calmly.

Mike steps into his personal space. Eyes on Tim’s mouth, he shakes his head. “No,” he answers, confirming everything that’s been in Tim’s head. Then he surges forward and kisses Tim.

This isn’t what soldiers are meant to do together, is it? 

Tim takes Mike’s jaw in his hands, long fingers bracketing his face.

A rumbling noise outside captures their attention, breaking the kiss. Mike peers out the window - it’s a thunderstorm. “Good thing we made it inside before the storm.” He returns his attention to Tim, slipping his hands over his chest.

“It’s the perfect hideout. Kinda James Bond,” Tim says as he unbuttons Mike’s jacket.

Mike winces. “I’ve only seen like, one of those.”

Tim grins. “I forgive you,” he says, leaning in for another kiss. “I’ll make you watch ‘em all one day,” he threatens, tugging Mike’s jacket from his shoulders. “Back to back.”

Mike gets Tim’s lower lip between his teeth, tugs. Presses a kiss to the corner of Tim’s mouth. “No way.”

Not sure who should go first, Tim starts working at Mike’s buttons. They scramble at each other’s clothes until it’s a mess.

“Just… take everything off,” Mike requests in Tim’s ear, and so he does.

Tim shivers when Mike’s hands descend on his bare skin. He’s doing that thing again where he looks like he can’t believe he’s here.

They’ve been naked around each other before, but not like this, bathed intimately in the glow of Berlin lamplight as it shines through the hotel window.

Tim’s lips are parted, his pupils blown, and he looks wrecked.

Mike walks Tim backward to the bed. It’s huge, the biggest bed Tim can ever remember using in his life. The sheets are blissfully soft and warm, and when they tumble onto it, they’re enveloped in the cushy, comfortable bed. It’s nothing like the rock-hard beds in the barracks.

“I might not even fuck you… might just fall asleep like this,” Mike mumbles.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” Tim shivers, then continues. “…Is that on the table?”

“I hope you didn’t get this fancy hotel room just to get your dick sucked,” Mike answers.

Tim responds with a wet, messy kiss. They make out longer than they ever have before. Normally it’s important to be cautious and quick; tonight, expediency is forgotten.

When he’s not rushed, Tim is playful and affectionate, nipping at Mike’s lips and jaw and neck and making Mike work for his attention. 

Mike waits until Tim is good and ready and throbbing insistently against his thigh. He urges Tim onto his front, running his hands over the backs of his thighs.

Tim grips the pillow his face is buried in as Mike presses inside him.

Mike hides his gasp in Tim’s shoulder, Tim’s body taking him in inch by inch. Hands firm on Tim’s hips, he moves slowly at first, rocking into Tim’s slender body underneath his. Mike runs a hand down his spine after Tim arches his back, fingers tracing through sweat. He picks up the rhythm. 

Tim’s as competitive in bed as he is with everything else, thrusting his hips back to meet every piston of Mike’s hips, giving back everything Mike gives him. Tim’s in excellent shape and makes Mike aware of it, athletic, lean body working hard underneath Mike’s own.

Tim’s dog tags bounce around, undignified and jingly, and Mike winds the chain around his finger and _yanks_. 

Tim doesn’t complain, he looks like he fucking likes it, the scoundrel, and Mike hangs onto his dog tags like a leash, tugging Tim wherever he wants him.

It’s fast and hot and hard and everything they’ve fantasized about, electric intensity burning between their bodies. Mike is inside Tim, around him, everywhere at once, arresting his senses. The sounds of their breaths are amplified, every gasp piercing the night.

Mike comes first, burying himself as deep as he can inside Tim, fingernails making little depressions in Tim’s skin where he grips his arms as he chases satisfaction.

Mike pulls out but keeps at it. Tim’s still halfway to fucking delirious, so a few well-timed moves with Mike’s mouth are all it takes to ensure his release.

Mike throws himself down beside Tim, letting the pillow engulf him. He can barely move, passed out among the luxurious sheets.

“Be right back,” Tim promises. He slaps a hand against Mike’s belly before climbing out of bed. His skin is warm and sweaty and smells of sex.

Tim cleans himself off in the bathroom. He’s got a washcloth in hand when he returns and begins wiping the drying spunk away from Mike’s pelvis. 

“Hey, thanks,” Mike says gratefully.

Tim throws the rag to the floor, more concerned with his tiredness than tomorrow’s unhappy maid. She’s probably seen worse.

Both men collapse into the pillows, muscles sore, bodies exhausted. It’s so unusual to be able to take their time with each other, even more unusual to have any time at all afterward.

“You’re uh, you’re good at this. Do you… do this often?” Tim asks.

“Your pillow talk needs work,” Mike smiles, pretending he’s got more experience than he really does.

“It’s kind of unreal,” Tim comments.

“Being with another guy?”

Tim shakes his head with a smile. “Being here. All of this,” he says, motioning around them. “Don’t get me wrong — I like it. I’m just not used to stuff like this.”

Mike moves closer. “The luxury or the romance?”

“The romance,” Tim answers. “Well, both. But mostly that.”

Mike’s eyes widen. “I’m not your first, am I?”

“No,” Tim grins. “This is just… so much better. And way less weird.”

“Tell me about it.”

Tim scrunches up his face. “I slept with our neighbor’s wife.”

“No way,” Mike gasps. “For real?”

“ _Why_ would I make that up?”

“I didn’t think you had it in you! Holy shit, Tim.”

Tim presses closer to Mike, feeling bold enough to slip his leg over Mike’s. Mike gets hold of his arm and tugs him even closer until they’re aligned. 

“Was she hot?”

“Of course,” Tim brags.

“Timothy McVeigh,” Mike murmurs against his shoulder. “I can’t believe you.”

“It’s kinda nice not having to worry about someone bursting through the door at any moment,” Tim admits. “Even if I am good at keeping secrets.”

“And here I thought you were a nice boy,” he kids. Mike’s hand grazes over Tim’s abs. “This is the nicest hotel I’ve ever been in, too,” Mike admits a moment later.

Tim gives him a shy smile.

Mike’s hand curls around his neck and he closes the distance between them with a kiss. It lacks all the urgency of the ones that came before it. They kiss until they can’t hold their heads up anymore, and the sound of the rain lulls them to sleep.

*

Tim had plans for them to sight-see the next day, but morning rolls around and the bed seems even more comfortable, the joy of sex compounded by Michael Fortier sleeping peacefully against his side.

Tim doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He snuggles closer, burying his face in Mike’s hair, and falls back asleep.

*

Later in the morning, Mike is the next one to stir. He wakes Tim up with lazy, sleepy kisses.

“What are you thinking?” Mike asks Tim, pressing a kiss to his jaw.

“The Brandenburg Gate… the Reichstag… or we could see another museum…”

“What?”

“Today is our last day in Germany. By tomorrow morning we’ll be on a plane back to bumfuck Georgia.”

“Slow down, McVeigh.” Mike puts a hand on Tim’s bare chest and pushes him back against the covers. “What time is check-out?”

Tim grins. “What did you have in mind?”

Mike’s steals a glance down Tim’s lanky body, at the muscles he hides under his fatigues. “It’d be a shame for this damn expensive hotel room to go to waste.”

“Last night didn’t feel like a waste,” Tim remarks, remembering the way Mike’s hands felt on him, the way he felt inside him.

Mike strokes Tim’s thighs and starts teasing him with his tongue, lavishing attention on his dick and balls and the sharp jut of his hipbone. “How does your ass feel?” Mike asks, sucking a mark onto the creamy white flesh of Tim’s thigh.

“It’s going to be a long plane ride home,” he smirks.

Mike grins devilishly. Tim certainly will remember last night.

“Think you could go again?”

“I don’t know, Mike. Can you handle it?”

Mike pulls himself up Tim’s body to shut him up with a kiss. He works his tongue into Tim’s mouth, grinding against him to show his interest. They rut against each other, pressure of their cocks pressing into their skin. 

Mike jerks Tim off, presses his thumb into the precome beading at the tip of his dick and slides it around the head. Mike’s fingers press lower, cupping Tim’s balls in the palm of his hand, and then keep moving, his index finger circling Tim’s rim.

Tim bucks up, body responsive under Mike’s hands, unused to the attention but soaking it all in.

Mike slides his finger inside Tim. When he adds a second, he feels give, like Tim’s still loose from his dicking last night. Mike tries to tell him how hot that is but it comes out more like “hrngh.”

Mike licks a bold stripe up Tim’s aching erection. Then he moves up his body, tasting him everywhere, nibbling at Tim’s neck when Tim slaps him on the behind. “No marks,” Tim reminds him.

“Ookay,” Mike agrees, though he knows better. His fingers sink deeper inside Tim.

Mike tries to build it up, to Tim’s dismay.

“Fortier, if you don’t fuck me right now, I’m going to bend you over the dresser and do the job myself,” Tim threatens.

Mike grips Tim’s throat. He presses just hard enough to restrict the air, but Tim doesn’t resist - his pupils widen and his dick twitches excitedly.

“Don’t call me Fortier in bed,” Mike tells him.

“Yes, sir,” Tim pants quietly, sucking in air. Both men ignore the thrill the words send up their spines; they’ll figure that out later.

Tim starts to turn over but Mike stops him. “Stay on your back,” Mike instructs, spreading Tim’s knobby knees. This way he can see the look on Tim’s face as he presses inside him, as he makes him come.

Mike spreads Tim’s legs, holding him open as he pushes inside.

Tim just lets him in so easily, his body receptive, and it doesn’t help, the way he’s clawing at Mike’s shoulders and drawing him closer still.

Tim groans. “Oh, shit.”

Mike kisses his mouth as he fucks him, drawing out every noise that Tim is ashamed to make, every gasp and inhale, before swallowing them with his own.

“Hell, Tim, be as loud as you want,” Mike murmurs in his ear, encouraging him to take advantage of the privacy. 

Tim’s stuttering breaths turn into begging, swept up in desperation.

Mike fucks him through every needy noise, hands hooked under Tim’s knees.

As Mike drives inside him, Tim goes from playing with himself to gripping Mike’s shoulders, long fingers digging into his muscles. 

Mike reaches down to palm Tim, to jack him at the same speed he’s fucking into him, driving his dick deep inside him.

“Fuck,” Mike groans, burying himself to the hilt. Everything is tight and warm and perfect. “I wanna make you come,” he pleads. “Tell me what you need.”

“Fuck, I don’t know, just — more, please,” Tim begs in Mike’s ear, legs spread wantonly and urging Mike deeper.

Tim’s hand joins Mike’s on his dick, fingers interlocking loosely and pumping up and down his shaft. He’s throbbing in their hands, desperate for human touch.

Mike bites Tim’s chest, right above his nipple, and he can feel the tension flash through Tim’s body, and then he’s coming over their fingertips.

“Oh, fuck,” Tim swears, like it’s the only word he knows, body shaking, 

Mike pulls him onto his cock painfully slowly, fucking him through his orgasm.

After Tim comes, Mike pulls out of him with a wet slide, urging him onto his knees. He gives Tim’s ass a good squeeze before pulling his cheeks apart, rubbing the tip of his dick over Tim’s entrance.

Tim groans with pleasure. He might as well be a desperate whore. Mike forces his head down and fucks him again.

Tim thrusts back, trying to take Mike deeper every time, loving the way he feels split open, filled up.

Mike knows he’s about to come when his cock gives a steady pulse. He pulls out and jerks himself off, hot come dripping all over Tim’s ass. He runs a finger through the mess and presses it inside Tim, fucks him with his fingers until Tim is hard again and rutting against the sheets.

“I think about you doing this to me,” Mike murmurs in a low voice. “Driving me crazy with your long fingers.”

“Mike,” Tim croaks, dizzy.

Mike wants to see if he can make him come without touching his dick. He crooks his fingers at the perfect angle and it doesn’t take long before Tim’s squirming and coming over the bedsheets.

All of the tension drains out of his body and Tim collapses limply face-down in the sheets. He’s sweaty and sticky and satisfied.

“Holy fuck, Mike,” Tim curses.

“You like that?” Mike grins, pleased with his performance. “Nobody’s fucked you like that before, huh? Not Mrs. Jones next door?” Mike boasts.

Tim shakes his head. “I did most of the work that time.”

Tim somehow recovers before Mike, and he goes for a shower first. He half-considers asking Mike to join him, but lets him nap a while longer. 

The bathroom is as nice as the rest of the hotel, and Tim feels lucky just to be here. Warm water is the same in any shower, but somehow at the Savoy, it feels better. Tim washes away last night’s evidence, or at least most of it. Tim glances down at his legs. Mike left bitemarks across his thighs, and there’s what looks suspiciously like his fingerprints over his hip. He presses a fingertip into a bruise.

Tim doesn’t know how to explain it, but something feels more real after last night.

He takes a quick but efficient shower and puts on his pants before rousing Mike. “Bathroom’s all yours.”

Tim watches a news report while Mike showers. There are marches in East Berlin for peace, and Tim tries to follow along despite not speaking the language. Even in German, he’s a newsaholic.

Mike’s already got pants on when he comes out of the bathroom fresh-faced, though Tim acts as if he’s not looking.

“It’s good we did this,” Mike admits later, as they’re finishing getting dressed. “Whatever this is.”

Tim drags Mike into one more kiss.

*

That morning, after checking out of the hotel, Mike ensures that Tim gets a whirlwind tour of Berlin. 

It’s _not_ the sort of informed expedition that Tim prefers, it feels more like something out of a National Lampoon movie, but Mike is so damn pleased about it that Tim gets in the mood and appreciates his crazy but genuine efforts.

Tim’s snapping a picture of Mike in front of the Brandenburg Gate when a young woman speaks to him.

“Don’t you want one together?” 

Tim looks up from the disposable camera, surprised. The girl makes the offer again.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I heard you speaking English. I’ll take your photograph, if you want?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Mike and Tim pose and throw their arms around each other’s shoulders, simple smiles. 

Tim leans in and whispers something in Mike’s ear. It causes him to beam, and the photographer snaps another picture.

*

Tim and Mike meet up with the guys from the squad just before noon at the train station.

“Yo, where the hell were you?”

“Just got caught up, I guess,” Mike answers.

“Probably fell asleep after one of McVeigh’s history lessons,” Ron remarks. 

McVeigh flips him the bird. 

“Yeah, he’s a surefire way to catch up on sleep,” Mike makes fun of Tim. “Why have we been calling him Mario? Should call him the Professor instead. ’Sup, Doc?”

The rest of the squad erupts in laughter at Tim’s expense.

Mike grins at Tim, thinking he’ll laugh, too, but Tim’s face falls and he only glares. Mike’s misjudged the moment, and it’s painfully obvious that Tim is being laughed at, not laughed with. They’d just spent the last six weeks as battle buddies, and one memorable night as lovers, and Mike has fucked it up in an instant.

Tim’s back is turned before he can say a word.

Mike watches his tall figure walk away, feeling like shit.

Later, on the train, Mike approaches Tim. He’s sitting in the very last row, up against the window. “This seat taken?” Mike asks, pointing to the seat occupied by Tim’s bag.

Tim glares.

“Hey, come on,” Mike pleads.

“Look, I didn’t expect us to be best friends, but you don’t have to be a jerk.”

“I’m sorry,” Mike apologizes, feeling like an idiot. “It was a stupid mistake.”

Tim doesn’t look convinced. He looks sort of numb.

“Hey, Tim, I’m sorry, all right? I fucked up.” Mike lifts up Tim’s stuff and takes the seat beside him anyway. He bumps Tim’s shoulder with his own. “Please?”

Reluctantly, Tim shrugs and looks at Mike, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“I didn’t mean it,” Mike tries again.

“Okay.”

Tim pulls his hoodie off and balls it up in his lap. They didn’t get much sleep last night - they’d spent too much time exploring every inch of each other. The adrenaline from the trip, from their electric night in Berlin, from everything starts to dissipate and Tim feels all the energy leaving his body. He leans his head against the window.

Tim feels a pressure at his thigh. Hiding underneath his hoodie, Mike is moving his hand closer, fingertips searching. It’s meant to be a reassuring gesture.

Tim makes sure nobody’s watching. Unseen, he lets his hand meet Mike’s, ignoring the nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The train ride is an effective catapult back into reality, even if that reality is a clusterfuck.

Tim doesn’t have a name for the things he’s bringing back from Germany. Things within him have changed, and not just because of the training. Tim can’t figure out what he’s feeling for Fortier, but that’s just it - they’re real feelings.

Mike’s always the one dozing off, but Tim seems to need the rest, leaning against the window and drifting off. He looks peaceful, Mike thinks, less defiant, and Mike lets him sleep. He keeps watch and strokes the back of Tim’s hand with his thumb underneath the hoodie. 

“I’m sorry,” Mike whispers again to Tim’s sleeping form, though he thinks Tim will probably be unable to hear.

Under the hoodie, Tim — still awake — squeezes his hand back, and for that, Mike is silently grateful.

**Author's Note:**

> Not crazy about this but wanted it off my plate. Thanks for reading.


End file.
